


Unspeakable And Unspoken Things

by ohfreckle



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a shameless hussy and gets the rimming of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspeakable And Unspoken Things

**Author's Note:**

> This is me reposting under my new name, because I was too stupid to figure out how easy it is to change your account name.

Arthur shifts on the bed impatiently, tilting his hips and spreading his thighs a little wider. The sheets are damp under him, sticking to his back. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying here like a goddamn hooker, but judging the state of the sheets, it’s been some time.

He looks down his body; through the V of his spread legs he can see Eames sitting in the armchair on the other side of the room, staring right back at him. The chair is too small for his frame, selected to suit Arthur’s taste of sleek lines, and Eames is dwarfing it. He’s only wearing a pair of ratty jeans and Arthur drinks in the sight of him, the broad chest covered in coarse hair and the thick arms with those hideous tattoos. He looks like a thug, burly and dangerous, the kind of guy moms warn their little girls of. He’s perfect. Fuck, Arthur wants him.

Right now that chest should be crushing him. Eames should be pressing him into the sheets until he can’t breathe, riding him hard and deep. But Eames is still in a snit because Arthur refused to interrupt his research earlier today for a fuck during _worktime_ , and so they are playing this ridiculous game instead.

He thinks it’s a game. It’s not what he expected earlier when Eames told him to strip and spread his legs. Eames tells him to do it all the time, and usually it’s followed by spectacular sex and them both getting covered in come.

Eames just sits in that goddamn chair and looks at him, contemplating him with hot eyes. Arthur hates that chair, and he hates Eames for looking so damn unruffled, like he isn’t just as hard as Arthur. Curse him for being a con-man and for his ability to not give away anything.

He wants Eames to move already, touch him and open him up and fill him up with his cock and come. He licks his lips and arranges his hips in a way he _knows_ drives Eames round the bend.

“Ready to beg for it yet, pet?” Eames rumbles. He sounds patient and a little amused, but otherwise mostly unaffected. The bastard. Arthur wants to wipe that indulgent smile off his face.

Arthur clenches his jaw and just stares back at him, eyes defiant.

“No!”

Arthur is not pouting that his attempts at seduction haven’t worked, he’s _not_ , he’s just impatient and a little pissed.

He’s hard. He’s so hard, his cock flat against his stomach and fuck, he is _empty_. But somehow it’s vital that he doesn’t give in that easily and that he wins this stupid thing, and so he keeps those _”Fuck me”_ ’s he wants to say so badly bottled up inside.

He’s fairly sure, though, that his leaking cock and his twitching ass tell Eames all he needs to know anyways. Jesus, he’s so fucked, but the mind-numbing orgasms and some other things are more than worth it. If they happen, the orgasms, that is.

He feels another drop of precome on his stomach, adding to trickle that is slowly running down his belly and groin, wetting his pubic hair and the cleft of his ass before it’s soaked up by the sheets.  
The sheets are already wet, just like him. Fuck it, he’s not just wet, he’s dripping and filthy between his legs, soaked with sweat and his own juices, and Eames hasn’t even touched him. He wonders idly if this is how Eames feels when Arthur fucks him as a woman in dreamscape, his panties always soaked before Arthur even gets his dress off.

He wants to hate the bastard for reducing him to such a mess with literally no effort at all, but at the moment he’s too desperate and hot for him to care about dignity and pretenses. He can’t fool anybody about his feelings towards Eames, least of all Eames himself.

Eames keeps looking at him, bent forward in the chair, his eyes fixated on the cleft between Arthur’s cheeks, where he is so wet and needy. Eames is breathing more heavily now, but he still doesn’t make a move to touch Arthur.  
Arthur can _feel_ those looks, feels them almost as real as the touch of Eames’s thick fingers, right where he needs to be touched so fucking badly. Eames licks his lips, and Arthur can only stare and he _knows_ that Eames wants to lick his hole just as much as Arthur needs him to do it.

A breathy and high _”Fuck”_ escapes him and he can feel his pucker clench and release. A little of his precome is seeping inside, tickling the tiny folds. He feels desperate and slutty, and he can’t even remember why he’s still resisting when all he wants is Eames’s fat cock inside of him.

He holds Eames’s eyes and sucks noisily on a couple of fingers, drooling on them and making a show of it. He goes down on them, moaning like he does around Eames’s cock when it’s deep down his throat.

Eames makes a wheezing noise in his throat that sounds suspiciously like Arthur’s name, but the bastard still doesn’t budge and give him what he wants. Instead he unzips his jeans, revealing the bright white of his briefs, a stark contrast to the tanned skin of his stomach. He brings a hand up and pinches one of his nipples, thumbing it until it sticks out from his chest.

God, of course the fucker knows how much Arthur loves to suckle his tits. Fine, if he wants to play it like that, Arthur can give just as good and even better.

He puts his slick fingers between his legs, resting the pad of his forefinger against his tightly furled asshole, just pressing, not yet pushing in. He’s so sensitive down there, always has been, the small touch almost too much when he’s already wound up like this. He knows he’ll go off at just the slightest touch to his cock. He slowly pushes in, just the tip, enjoying the burn. He dips deeper, fucks himself in shallow thrusts, clenching his hole and fuck, it feels good. Good, but not enough, he’s still so empty and he needs Eames’s cock _right the fuck now_.

“Please, Eames, please…” he moans, and suddenly it’s so easy to say, so he repeats it.

“Please, Eames, your cock… take it out… I…” He’s panting, his arousal suddenly at fever pitch at the feeling of having something filling his ass, and it leaves him breathless.

“Oh, darling, what took you so long?” Eames sounds a little desperate himself now, a slight tremor in his voice.

“Look at you”, he breathes, “so desperate and gagging for it, like a good little boy”.

Arthur feels himself flush even more. He hates how much he loves it when Eames calls him ‘boy’, he _hates_ it and how much it makes him want to roll over and just beg to be .

With a few steps Eames is standing in front of the bed, shoving his jeans down, stepping out of them impatiently.

He’s wearing the white Armani briefs Arthur loves so much because they show off his gorgeous cock so beautifully, the thickness even more pronounced with the tight stretch of the material. They look like a rag on that British soccer guy, but on Eames they look downright sinful.  
There’s a large damp spot at the front, and for one wild second Arthur thinks _he’s just as wet as I am_. He’s ridiculously pleased and somehow it’s a relief to know that Eames wants him just as fiercely as he wants Eames, _always_ wants him.

Arthur scrambles up on his knees so fast it makes him dizzy. His legs are half asleep from being in the same position for so long, and he needs a few seconds until he’s steady again. He grabs Eames’s hips and rubs his cheek over that damp spot, mouths at it, feeling the shape of Eames’s fat cock with his lips. It feels huge under his lips, hell, it _is_ huge, solid and heavy, and his hole clenches with the want to feel it split him open. He breathes deeply, fuck, he loves the way Eames smells down here, hot and sweaty.

“Take it out… come on, show me…” Arthur’s whining, but right now he’s past caring.

Eames cups his with face with one hand, his fingers strong on Arthur’s jaw, holding him in place. His other hand lowers the waistband of his briefs over his cock, pushing them a little down his hips, until it’s snug behind Eames’s balls. His cock and balls are hanging over the waistband, and Eames gives his cock a lazy tug. Arthur’s still held immobile by the grip on his jaw, so he can only watch how Eames draws the foreskin back and then pushes it forward. Arthur sees how the motion squeezes precome out of the hood of flesh, just a small bubble that clings at the tip. Fuck, he wants to suckle on that little piece of skin, run the tip of his tongue under it and lap it all up. He can almost _taste_ it on his tongue, but he can’t, not until Eames allows it.

Judging from the look he’s giving him, Eames knows exactly what’s going through his head.

“Oh, darling boy”, he breathes almost reverently and there’s the goddamn _boy_ again.

“ _Arthur_ , I know how much you want it, but I don’t think my cock is what you _need_ tonight”.

Arthur blinks up at Eames, dumbfounded.

“Eames, what… goddamn, I swear if you leave me like this…” Arthur feels himself getting even more frantic, he _needs_ to be fucked, he’s so close already.

“Not going to leave you like this, pet, never. You know I always take good care of you.”

Eames voice is low and so filthy, Arthur can feel it down in his balls. His cock is bubbling more precome. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t come already.

“I’m going to wreck you, make you filthy and wet like a girl. Gonna make you dripping with me, love, just the way you like it.”

Eames sighs and nudges two fingers at Arthur’s lips. Arthur opens up immediately, sucking hard on them, because it’s _something_. Eames pushes them in hard, nudges the tips at the back of Arthur’s throat. Arthur gags a little, not expecting it. There’s drool running down his chin.

Eames pulls his fingers out and pushes on Arthur’s shoulder, and just like that he’s back on his back, only this time with Eames kneeling between his thighs. Fucking finally.

Eames leans up and slants their mouths together. Arthur opens up, greedy for him. He lets Eames fuck his mouth with deep and wet strokes of his tongue, until he’s full of Eames’s tongue and Eames’s spit, until he can’t breathe from having his mouth filled and Eames’s bulk pressing him down. He mewls, fucking _mewls_ and he will kill anyone who calls it that, and opens his mouth a little wider, silently asks for more.

Eames breaks the kiss with a last lick and leans back. He’s flushed and breathing heavily.

“You’re so beautiful like this, pet, so desperate for me. I’m going to take such good care of you, kiss your gorgeous little arsehole like I kiss your mouth.“

“Shut up, Eames, just shut up and… ungh…”

 

Eames huge hands are on Arthur’s slippery thighs, spreading him open, and he’s _looking_ at him again.  
He puts a dry thumb on Arthur’s pucker and presses hard, just once. Arthur sobs, involuntarily tries to close his thighs, his over-sensitized body shocked at the sudden touch. He sucks in tiny gasps of air, breathless because it feels so fucking good to have Eames finally touch him where he needs him.

Eames keeps rubbing his asshole slowly, pets his hole with dry fingers, snags his rim with a fingertip occasionally.

”Arthur, oh darling…” he says, crouching down until his face is level with Arthur’s cleft.

”Look at how pretty you are where I fuck you. So pink and lovely, keeping yourself so smooth for me.”

Arthur blushes furiously, turns his head into the pillow, and squeezes his eyes shut, just so he doesn’t have to look at Eames. Fuck, he’s a grown man who has pretty kinky sex on a daily basis, he shouldn’t even be physically able to blush this hard.

He vividly remembers the last time Eames helped him keeping himself smooth, made him stick out his ass so he could shave Arthur’s pucker while telling him how pretty his little hole was.

Arthur grips the sheets harder and squirms, as much as Eames’s grip on his thighs will allow.

“Fuck Eames, just do it already… please….” he groans. He needs, he doesn’t even know what, he just needs _some_ part of Eames inside.

“What do you want me to do, love? Tell me. Tell me with that lovely filthy mouth of yours.”

“Fine,” Arthur pants.

“Lick me, eat me out… put your mouth… oh god, _please_ …” He’s babbling mindlessly, dignity long lost, his hips wiggling in Eames’s grasp so he can feel more of those petting fingers.

“Oh Arthur, I’m going to make such a lovely mess of you.”

Eames is still crouched between his legs, but he shifts into a more comfortable position on his knees, as if he’s planning to stay that way for some time. He puts Arthur’s legs over his shoulders and pushes on his ass until he’s almost bent in half. Arthur feels the muscles in his shoulders strain from holding most of his weight, but he forgets any discomfort when Eames’s big hands are on his cheeks, parting him wide and holding him open.

There’s a kiss on Arthur’s hole, close-lipped and chaste. He tenses and scrunches up his face, turns his face into the pillow and _waits_.

He feels Eames’s breath on his hole, tickling over the tight furls. There’s another kiss, this one wet and open-mouthed, Eames rubbing his fat lips across his hole over and over.  
It’s hot and wet and fucking perfect and feels his insides clench at the sensation.

“Fuck fuck fuck, Eames…”, Arthur sobs out.

“Shhhhh”, Eames murmurs, the sound tickling over Arthur like a caress.

Eames presses down with his thumbs on the sides of his hole, opening him up the tiniest bit, and then Arthur feels his tongue, licking a broad stripe over his asshole.  
Eames keeps licking him, wet stripes from top to bottom of his cleft, lovingly adding to the mess between his legs and lapping it up again.

Arthur can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel what Eames is doing to him between his legs. His thighs tense with anticipation, trapping Eames where he needs him.

“Eames”, he breathes, voice wrecked. “Eames, please… inside… oh… oh god…”

Eames moans shamelessly and licks into him, hard, stabbing his hole with the tip of his tongue. Arthur feels his pucker flutter, greedy, eager for anything Eames will give him. He pushes his hole out to get more of that dripping tongue inside of him, and every snag of it on his rim feels so good he could cry.

He _is_ crying, fisting his own hair, making even more of a mess of himself than he already is. He wants to move, _needs_ to move, to alleviate the pressure he is feeling deep inside, but Eames’s hands are keeping him still. Tomorrow there will be deep bruises on his hips, and Arthur will love the way they hurt when Eames presses into them while he fucks him on his knees.

Eames keeps making noises, little “mmmhs” mixed with filthy nonsense he doesn’t even realize he’s saying.

Arthur is sweating. He’s wet all over, his face flushed from exertion. He can’t see, can’t breathe, can only take it and take it and take it. He hurts everywhere: his thighs, his too-hard cock, his hole that’s sore from friction.

He palms his cock with one hand, giving it a few jerks before Eames stills his hand.

“No,” Eames tells him, voice deep and hard, “you’ll come just from having your lovely arse eaten.”

Arthur hates him, hates him so much. He can’t come like this, he just can’t. He doesn’t need his cock touched, but he needs something inside him, something big and hard.  
He makes the mistake of looking down his body. Eames is watching him, his eyes hot and proud and full of something they never speak of, but have long since stopped denying.

“You can do that for me, darling boy, can’t you” he murmurs and Arthur can only sob out “yes, yes, yesss… fuuuuck”, unable to refuse him.

He keeps looking down at Eames, watches him rubs his whole face between his cheeks, his face glistening with saliva and precome. It’s filthy and disgusting and they both love it.

Eames licks his lips, those obscenely thick lips and moans low in his throat, tells Arthur how good he tastes.

All his breath is punched out of Arthur when he feels Eames rubbing his stubble over his asshole. “Oh my God, Eames,” he wheezes, “stop… stop... too much... fuck, fuck…”  
His head slams back on to the pillow so hard his teeth click. He can only feel that bristly sensation prickling over his hole, feel the blood pulsing hot in the tiny furls, making it feel like the center of his world.

“Please, pleasepleaseplease, inside… inside…I… ah…ah…”

He’s so close, _so close_ , he just needs a tiny bit more. He puts a hand on Eames's head and presses Eames’s face between his cheeks, so fucking desperate for him.

And then he’s gone.

He’s fucking flying when Eames puts his mouth over his hole and _sucks_. One long and hard suck, he can feel _teeth_ grazing his rim and he’s just fucking gone. His whole body locks and seizes, his fucking _balls_ hurt from spewing his come in long, deep pulses all over his stomach and chest.

Arthur can only lie there and ride it out, feel his ass still clench and release, pulsing with little aftershocks. He’s limp and boneless, blissed out of his fucking mind, until he hears Eames’s desperate “fuckfuckfuck, _Arthur_ …”

He opens his eyes and there’s a hot splash on his hole while Eames strokes himself off hard and fast. His face is twisted into a grimace, but his eyes are glued to Arthur’s.

 

When Eames collapses on top of him, Arthur cradles him between his hips. For a few minutes there’s just their heavy breathing. Eames is squashing him, absolutely useless after sex, but Arthur doesn’t have the energy to shove him off.

He feels Eames’s come trickling down between his cheeks, already cool and sticky and it feels fucking perfect.

“You are such a lovely mess,” Eames sighs dreamily, and Arthur can feel him smiling against his throat. He’s already half asleep himself, but he still manages to murmur “always for you” into Eames’s temple.


End file.
